10 Things Gwen Loves About
by mydoctortennant
Summary: How many ways do I liketh thy hands? Let me counth the ways… Arthur/Gwen prompt written.


**Title:** 10 Things I Love About…

**Author:** **mydoctortennant**  
**Pairing/s:** Arthur/Gwen  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Merlin, unfortunately, doesn't belong to me… maybe one day!  
**Dedication:** Fordis-teris for her prompt "Gwen likes Arthur's hands"**  
Summary:** How many ways do I liketh thy hands? Let me counth the ways…

**Notes:** This comes to you un-beta'd so if there are spelling mistakes or whatnot they are all my own, and if you want to point things out to me, go ahead XD  
Prompt me with my shiny prompt table all for Merlin =D

**One.**_The way he gestures with them when he talks_

It is only normally when he is excited about something, or is one of those funny moods. When he hops about and brandishes his hands around like movement is going out of fashion. Or when he has an idea that he had to tell me about and he can not wait. Other times his hands are still, his professional, kingly air shining through. But it's those times when his hands fly near to my face in excitement that really make me smile. It shows he is happy and on the brick of changing Camelot for the good of the people.

**Two. **_The way he runs them through his hair, albeit not a lot._

When he is deep in thought, worrying over the next threat to his kingdom, he sits and stares at the fire in our bedchamber and he runs his fingers through his hair. Unintentionally, he sets his hair in a crazed fashion, and when he is done he allows me to run my hands through it, putting it back in its place. Other times it is when he is making a rash decision, and his hand makes it through his hair because he doesn't know if it is the right one to make, but Merlin will always tell him it is.

**Three**_**.**__ The way he taps his lips when he's thinking_

Back in the day when his father was still alive, when he was discussing matters of the kingdom with his, sitting in his prince's throne, he would lean upon the arm of it, his chin in his hand and tap his index finger gently against his lips. The matters not so urgent that called for hair pulling, but mind baffling enough that he needed to do something with them to help the process. Those were the days when he would look past his fingers at me standing to the side of the room, pretending not to exist. Existing to him.

**Four.** _The way his touch makes me believe._

It doesn't matter when, and it doesn't matter where, but the second his hand lays on my skin I know I can believe what he tells me. When he told me that he loved me I had my reservations but he placed his hand on my cheek, ran his thumb slowly over my cheekbone, and I was porridge in his hands. With his father sitting in the hall I had just walked out of, denying his son of his own will, of his own heart, the bastard man. Uther was so cold he would never feel love. Not without enchantment.

**Five.**_ The way his fiddles when he lies._

When he tells his father, the next year running, of some mythic creature roaming the forest, when he tells him that, this one, has the body of a goat, the wings of a swan the teeth the size of his head. Merlin was trying not to laugh. Morgana looked perplexed and well, I was trying not to look him in the eye. I was watching his hands fiddle with the goblet in front of him, holding onto it. He took several long gulps before Uther said how much a shame it would be to lose him from the tournament again.

**Six.** _The way he can make me smile with one wave of his hand._

When he was sat with his father, the King rattling off some orders to their men, ignoring Arthur for only a second, he caught my eye, smiled and gently waved a few fingers in my direction. I discretely crossed my arms and waved a few fingers back, then smiling for the rest of meeting. Afterwards, when the other men had left, including his father, he pulled me forward, behind the larger of the pillars in the hall and pressed his lips firmly to mine before having to run off after his father, leaving me pretty much in a stunned silence.

**Seven.** _The way I miss his hands when he isn't around_

It's weird, but the one thing I always find myself thinking about are his hands. All the things about them that I like I miss. Of course I miss him too, especially when he is away at war. It left me thinking about how he was using his them, wielding his sword, giving his wordless instructions. They weren't in my hair, they weren't on my neck, they weren't anywhere near my being. I miss his hands and I missed him. I wanted him back here, I wasn't a leader, I could look after the people but never the whole city.

**Eight. **_The way his fingers thread through my hair._

When we kissed, in that tent, and his hands threaded through my hair, I never felt any more loved. Not even when he bought me a rose, and told me, however indirectly, that he had loved me, it was that moment, with his hands in my hair, that I knew I loved him. Breaking the enchantment meant nothing, yet everything at the same time. If it hadn't have worked, then what would have happened? He'd probably have died. If he hadn't he'd be with _Vivian _now. Then I would have known that he didn't love me. But he really did.

**Nine.** _The way his hands say so much about him._

The calluses caused by hours of practise. The scars caused by years at war. The dirt under his nails as his returns from a hunting trip. The blood on his hands when he injures himself. The fortune lines that weave us together. His scabbed knuckled from where he punched the wall in frustration. The ring on his left that proves his love. The ring on his right that his father gave him. The soft skin on the top that rubs against my cheek. And the way that his places his hand on my cheek as he says I'm his world.

**Ten.**_The way his hands are a part of him._

All those small things. All those things I like. All those things I love. All those things I hate. I know that they are all a part of him. His blonde hair. His blue eyes. His family's signature colour. His golden band crown. His armour. His chainmail. His laughter. His smile. His friendship. His cloak. His boots. His inability to get up in the morning. His love of breakfast. His love of Merlin. Her love of his adoptive sister. His love of his dead mother. His dead father. His love of me. But most importantly, his love of his people.


End file.
